All That and a Cup of Tea
by iaso
Summary: From the life of a burnout going nowhere to the youngest daughter of a wealthy nobleman, on first glance, Emika upgraded when she was reborn. But all that glitters isn't gold. Deemed too ugly and unruly to be a proper wife by the elite of Fire Country, she's disowned and sent to live in exile in Konoha. There, she seeks to realize her dream: running a tea shop. Civilian SI/OC
1. Hibiscus

.

* * *

 _When there's tea, there's hope._

* * *

Hands tucked into the sleeves of her kimono and shoulders held back, Emika stares at the massive wooden doors as she waits for the attendants to open them.

The closed doors are a familiar sight. The intricate carving of a fire-breathing dragon winds around the doors, painted in vibrant reds and decorated with solid-gold plating, and rainbow clouds encrusted with jewels dot the spaces between the beast's body. An imposing sight, designed to humble and intimidate any who dare enter the Kodaba manor.

She supposes that's the intent of her parents, making her wait as they are. A power play, pulled right from her father Joben's usual bag of tricks. She knows her mother isn't behind it—her mother can't be bothered to put that kind of effort into interacting with her least favourite daughter. Everybody in the manor knows that Masami would rather stare at a wall for hours than waste a single, precious breath speaking to Emika.

Emika isn't put off balance by it, not anymore. She has sixteen years of experience under her belt. She doesn't fiddle with the silken hem of her sapphire kimono, coloured to match her eyes. She has no desire to pick at her nails or brush her fingers against the back of her updo to ensure no baby hairs have come loose.

She stands and listens to the rain patter against the window panes that line the lavish halls of the main building. She could fit right in with the rest of the porcelain statues littered on pedestals around her if not for her mottled skin, visible even through the thick white makeup on her face, her too-big nose, full lips, and unevenly placed features.

One of the attendants who escorted her here watches her. Emika turns and meets her gaze, unsurprised when the young girl flinches. All of the workers refuse to look her in the eye.

Five whole minutes pass before the doors creak open, allowing Emika to float inside of the room.

The room is empty save for a table in the middle, where her whole family sits, and a slew of candles scattered around the edges provide a dim glow. The scents of jasmine and smoke swirl off the candles and fill the massive room, leaving a light haze in the air, the only thing that fills the copious amounts of space between the table and the walls.

Emika strides forward without allowing her chin to dip for a second. Her pace is slow, almost meandering, each foot carefully placed in front of the other.

Once she gets to the table she bows at the waist, even as the temptation to remain upright tickles at her. Joben makes her wait there. And wait. And wait. There's nothing comfortable about the position, but she doesn't move a muscle.

"You may rise, daughter," he finally says.

She pulls herself straight. "Thank you," she answers, her voice a near-whisper, the way she's been taught to answer for her whole life. "I am honoured to be in your presence."

"Yes," Joben says. "I suppose it has been a rather long time since I have seen you, has it not?"

"Two years."

He nods. "That does sound correct." He flicks his gaze around her whole body and his expression, previously blank, twists to match the cruel glint in his eyes. "A shame that you have not bloomed in that time. I had hoped you would."

Emika lowers herself down to kneel on the cushion and makes no reply. She sees Hatsuko fight off a wince at the comment, her face making a twitchy, abated movement. Emika doesn't understand why her older sister held it off. From Hatsuko's spot behind their parent, nobody but Emika would have seen her expression.

The table they sit at is the same red as the door. Solid wood, low to the ground. It contrasts with the dark brown wood of the floors and walls, but matches the pillars along the outer parts of the room.

In much the same fashion as Emika has done her entire life, she sits and waits in silence as her father stares her down and her mother appears bored with the whole shebang. The look on Joben's face tells her enough—even her silence is disappointing.

"As you are well aware, I have spent the last four years attempting to find you a husband," her father says. "I had hoped that you might at least provide some worth for this family, but even still, you fail to bring in an honourable match due to your reputation."

She dips her head in a nod and lowers her gaze. "Yes."

Masami frowns but holds her silence, the way she always taught her daughters to do in the presence of their future husbands.

An apology was expected of Emika. _I'm sorry I'm a burden_ , she should say. _I'm sorry I'm so ugly. I'm sorry I'm not able to gossip and host guests the way I should. I'm sorry I can't sing, dance, play any instruments, or write beautiful poems in wonderfully formed script. I'm sorry that I'm so undesirable as a wife that every important nobleman in the Fire Country knows who I am and refuse to even discuss marrying me. I'm sorry I bring shame to this family._

She might say this if not for the fact that Emika doesn't care, not even a little.

Her father is a ridiculous man and she owes him no courtesy.

"However, an… _acceptable_ match has presented itself recently," Joben says. "The widowed head of a wealthy merchant family has agreed to wed you."

Head of the family and already married once, _at least_.

Only a desperate old man will cough up any money for her, then. Masami always told her that growing up. Emika wonders if she gets any satisfaction out of having been proven right.

Joben snaps his fingers and one of the attendants standing off to the side scurries over, a scroll in hand. She lays the scroll flat on the table and drops a brush and inkwell down beside it. Emika's eyes wander over it, but she has no idea what it says—she can't read upside-down.

"I plan to sign it," Joben says. "That is, unless you wish to accept another offer I have generously decided offer you."

Emika tilts her head, curious.

"You can be wed to this man, the only man in all the Land of Fire willing to take on a wife as ugly and incompetent as you," he says, grinning, "or I can disown you and send you to rot in Konoha with that lot of barbarians."

For the first time since Emika entered the hall, everybody in front of her has a readable expression on their face. Joben is smug; Masami is as close to pleased as Emika's ever seen her; and Hatsuko looks downright ecstatic.

Joben opens his mouth again to speak, and before he has a chance to, Emika says, "I will bade this family goodbye and spend the rest of my life in Konoha."

A pin could be heard dropping in the room.

Masami's painted on eyebrows go all the way to her hairline and her bright red lips form a small circle, all traces of happiness wiped from her expression. "You will?"

Joben's face tightens, the way it always does when he thinks his wife has spoken out of turn, and Masami flinches. She retreats back into her blank state without another word.

"Yes, I will," Emika answers, despite that. "I would very much like to live my life in peace behind the walls of Konoha."

"I suppose I should be surprised that an ungrateful thing such as yourself has made this choice, refusing to even _attempt_ to bring honour to this family, but I am not."

Emika watches him roll the scroll back up and fling it away in disgust.

A number of fantasies sprouted in her head over the years, many of which involved her ending back in the type of life she once lived before she was reborn as Emika. She remembered hating her old job as a barista, her life as a burnout, right up until the day she died. For the first few years, she thought that this new life, with its wealth and extravagance, initial comfort, was her reward for dying to save somebody else.

She thought she could do whatever she wanted. She's rich. Her family is powerful. The world was her oyster, and Emika deserved to crack it open and find the pearl. She was mostly satisfied with her life and its luxury, but there was always one thing she wouldn't have minded to do. An old dream, one that sustained from her other life into this one.

Then the sugary sheen encasing this world rubbed off to reveal the bitter center and she realized the futility of those dreams; now, she has times where she'd give anything to have that other life back.

But Emika's long since accepted that there's no going back from this world.

Once she got over that, her dreams moved into something much more achievable. If she never married, what she assumed would be her reality, she planned to steal as much as she could from her parents and run off to start a life somewhere else. Anywhere else. But if she _did_ eventually get married off, she planned to hire a hand to murder her husband in his sleep and blame it on whatever scapegoat was most convenient. Or, if she couldn't find somebody to take the job, she'd do it herself. Either was fine so long as Emika ended up with his money.

Never had she imagined living in Konoha. She knows what awaits her there. Konoha can spout whatever propaganda they wish, but it's still a village filled with poor people living off the free protection of some mentally unstable, knife-happy brutes. Knowing how their future will unfold and wanting _nothing_ to do with it heightens her distaste.

That said, Konoha is a better option than having to endure a number of months—or _years_ —sharing a bed with a husband dozens of years her senior, as she imagines this man is.

"You will leave in the morning," Joben says. "And you will never return again."

Emika stands and bows to them, a small smile on her face. "It will be my pleasure."

She catches a hint of the laughter in Hatsuko's face before she turns and walks out of the room.

.

.

Emika remains in her chambers for the rest of the evening. She is brought her meal, a simple rice dish, and is otherwise left to her devices until Hatsuko comes to visit after nightfall.

She sits at her vanity and brushes oils through her hair, a sheet of black that reaches her knees, so long due to having never been shorn in her life. People can say whatever they please about her face, but nobody can deny that her hair is beautiful. Thick and glossy, feather-soft to the touch. Her one redeeming quality. She has all of it pulled over one shoulder and runs the silver brush through its length, to what degree she can.

A knock sounds against her door. Emika looks over her shoulder and calls, "Enter."

Hatsuko darts in and pushes the door closed behind her. A short, high-pitched squeak leaves her as she turns around to face Emika, her expression alight with delight, her cheeks flushed and her chocolate brown eyes wide.

In Hatsuko, their parents got everything they wanted from a daughter. She's reserved in public but pleasant in private. Warm, even with their father, who Hatsuko hates just as much as Emika does. Obedient. Well loved among the social scene of Fire Country nobility, able to laugh at the right time and smile at the right time, gossip with the shrewdest of the daimyo's court. Gorgeous in the way dolls are, with wide eyes and bright cheeks, her teeth perfectly straight beneath her small lips. High cheekbones carved into a rounded face. Her hair is as bright and yellow as the sun, the colour taken from their mother, and falls to the floor from the insane rate that it grows at.

Emika treats her sister to a smile, a full one. Hatsuko is the only person who can drag those out of her.

She's as enamoured with her sister as the rest of the world, and she's alright with that.

Hatsuko runs over and embraces Emika. "Oh, wow," Hatsuko whispers, breathless. "I can't believe it! They told me they were going to offer, but I—I never— _wow_."

Emika sets the silver brush down and hugs her sister back. "I know," she says. "It feels weird."

"They warned me they were planning on doing it, but I… I didn't think they'd _actually_ do it!"

"They warned you?"

Hatsuko nods, a rushed motion. "They spoke to me yesterday about it," she says. She settles herself on a nearby stool, the plush velvet matching the colour of Hatsuko's kimono. "Well, Father did, I mean. He thought you might do something 'foolish and rash' if he outright forced you into the marriage, so he thought you'd be more willing if he presented you with the illusion of choice."

"Good to know Father was wrong, as usual."

Hatsuko waves a hand. "Right? He honestly thought you were going to marry the old man."

"So the man Father got for me was old?"

" _Ancient_. I think he's in his sixties, and he's already had four wives."

"And they're all dead?"

"Every last one of them. His first wife lasted for twenty years, the poor dear, but all three of his other wives died within five years."

"How encouraging."

"Yes, but… well… no use in dwelling on it."

"A little warning would have been nice."

"I couldn't. Father told me not to."

"Oh."

Hatsuko makes a face. Even as the prized daughter, Hatsuko isn't immune to their father's wrath. The last thing Emika would want is for her sister to get in trouble—even if that bit of information would have been helpful.

Emika goes back to brushing her hair.

Hatsuko comes up behind Emika to take the brush from her hands. She pulls Emika's hair over the back of the chair and runs the bristles through, humming as she goes. Emika closes her eyes and allows herself to enjoy the sensation.

The crickets echo in the background. Her bedroom has two doors: one that opens up into the main part of the manor, and another, on the opposite side of the room, that opens up to the gardens. She likes to leave the latter open in the evenings to allow the fresh air and ambient sounds of nature in, along with a slight floral scent on the breeze.

"I'm going to miss this," Hatsuko murmurs. She sighs. "I'm going to miss you."

"You will?"

"Of course I will." She hesitates. "Won't you miss me?"

"I think so, yeah."

Hatsuko scoffs. " _That's_ reassuring."

"You stop by Konoha whenever Father sends you out into the world. I'm sure you'll see me. And you can write letters. It's not that we're never gonna see or talk to each other ever again." Emika feels her lips crawl up into a smile. "Plus, once Father croaks, we'll be able to see each other as much as we want."

"You'll be getting a letter from me every month, if not more. Those are easy to manage without Father knowing," Hatsuko says, not pausing in her brushing. "I'll only be able to swing a visit every few months or so, though, because that's something I can only do if we stop in Konoha on the way to somewhere else."

"Again, that won't be an issue once Father—"

Hatsuko tugs on a lock of Emika's hair. "Stop that. You and I both know he's not going anywhere anytime soon."

"Father's well into his fifties. You never know."

"That's enough death talk for one day. Honestly. Your sense of humor is always so _grim_."

"You think I'm joking."

"Of _course_ you're joking."

"I'm not joking."

"Yes, you are."

Emika leans her head back to meet her sister's gaze and gives her a look, expression deadpan. "Fine. I'm joking."

She's not.

Emika dearly hopes that her father chokes on the next meal he eats, liquid he drinks, or penis he shoves down his throat.

" _Knew it_."

Hatsuko spends the next hour twining Emika's hair into a handful of braids, and then piles them up into a comfortable and beautiful updo for Emika to sleep with. Something has to be done with it before she goes to bed. If she leaves it loose, it knots and gets caught on everything, and Emika's always had the odd fear that it might strangle her in her sleep.

Once that's done, Hatsuko helps her get changed, since none of the servants will enter Emika's room now. The news of her disowning spread like wildfire through the manor.

"You don't need to help," Emika says. "I can get dressed myself. I'm _going_ to be getting dressed myself for the rest of my life after this."

"Oh, don't say that. You might nab yourself a rich husband who'll have servants all his own to dress you."

"Not in Konoha. Nobody there has money for that."

"Nonsense."

"It's true—you know better than I do. You've been there before."

Hatsuko fusses with the frills on Emika's nightgown. "I have. It's not as poor as Mother, Father, and the rest of the foolish court people have always acted like it. Some of it's rather nice."

"You're saying that to make me feel better."

"No, I'm not," she says. "Some of the ninja clans are very wealthy, actually." Her lips pull up into a playful smile. "Maybe you'll nab the attention of some nice clan leader and get yourself set for life."

"I'd die alone before I'd ever marry one of those."

"Never say never."

"Never."

Hatsuko sighs. "Why do you always do this?"

"Speak? It's a normal bodily function that every person—"

Before Emika can finish her sentence, Hatsuko pulls her into a hug. She rests her chin on Emika's shoulder. "I'm… _really_ going to miss you."

Emika returns the hug. She whispers back, "I'm going to miss you, too."

.

.

The next morning, Emika finds herself standing in front of the manor, a drab travelling kimono adorning her body and no bags in her hands. She's to leave with nothing but enough rations to last her the five day wagon ride to Konoha. None of her possessions are hers now—they belong to the Kodaba family.

Hatsuko is the only person that sees her off. She trails out the main gates with two attendants following behind her, a chest carried between them. The morning light illuminates Hatsuko's form and gives her an ethereal appearance, her hair glistening like spun gold and her eyes like melted chocolate, beautiful even with ruffled clothes, a bare face, and messy hair.

"I'm glad I caught you," Hatsuko says, a small smile on her face. "Seems I slept in."

"We were waiting for you. I knew you'd come."

Hatsuko comes over and grabs Emika's hands in her own. "Thank you." She steps back and motions at the chest. "Some extra rations. It's non-perishables, so you'll be able to use them once you get into Konoha. The kitchen's way of saying goodbye."

That the kitchen staff would take the time to prepare her a gift sounds unlikely to Emika, but she tilts her head and says, "Pass on my thanks."

"I will."

Hatsuko reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a small envelope that she hands to Emika. "And this is my way of saying goodbye. It's a letter for you to read once you start to missing me somewhere in the next few days."

The envelope is too thick to just be a letter. "Thank you," Emika says. She tucks the envelope into her own thin kimono sleeve and gives a short bow.

Hatsuko smiles. Like the night before, she begins to straighten Emika's kimono, her nimble fingers tugging at the edges and smoothing the imaginary wrinkles.

"Mother is still asleep and Father left in the middle of the night," Hatsuko says. "It's just the two of us and the house staff."

"Like usual."

"Pretty much."

"Do our parents know about the letter or the rations?"

"Nope," Hatsuko says. Emika eyes the attendants, and Hatsuko shakes her head. "Kimi and Sayaka don't know about them, either. Right?"

"Never seen it in my life," one girl says.

"No idea what you mean, miss," says the other.

The attendants never took to Emika, but all of them love Hatsuko. They always have. Emika believes that the attendants will hold their silence about the chest and whatever's actually inside of it.

Hatsuko gives Emika one last, long hug, before she steps back and watches Emika load up into the wagon. The driver cracks his whip and the horses take off at a trot. Emika sits in the back of the wagon. She leans out to watch through the opening, able to take in the waving form of Hatsuko until she disappears into a speck on the horizon.

Her home is gone from her sight.

 _Good riddance_.

Emika pulls out the envelope and breaks the wax seal, watching the Kodaba emblem pressed into the wax crack, split through the middle. She sees the bundles of yen tied with ribbon and held flat against the letter inside. Her fingers first reach for the letter.

When she unfolds the parchment, Hatsuko's perfume floods the air inside the wagon.

' _My dearest sister,_

 _When we were little, I used to have so many dreams for my future. I wanted to be a dancer, or a future daimyo, or a business owner. I wanted success. I had big dreams for myself. Foolish dreams that Mother and Father would have chastised me for, but dreams nonetheless. You always listened to them with a smile and told me that I could do it. There was never a doubt in your mind._

 _You may think I don't remember, given how rarely you spoke of it, but I know you had a dream for yourself, too. You were always so excited about it. The expressions on your face when you talked about it were so sweet, so hopeful and happy. I cherish those memories._

 _In the chest are some of your favourite things. Your silver brush, your hair oils, four of your best kimono, and your favourite tea set. Mother ordered them all thrown out but I had the servants set these aside for you. What Mother doesn't know won't hurt her._

 _As well, enclosed with this letter is my monthly allowance. It seems like a pittance to me, but for you, I know it'll be helpful. I'll continue to send it. I have no need for it. My wardrobe is full and I've enough makeup to last me a lifetime. This money means more to you than it does to me. With this, you can pay your rent, buy your food, put clothes on your back, and on top of all that, finance your dream._

 _Go open your tea shop. Live your new life to the fullest. I expect that by the time I manage to get to Konoha, you'll have the place up and running, with customers begging to get inside._

 _I love you, Emika. I hope you find happiness._

 _Hatsuko.'_

The last few sentences are difficult for her to make out, smudged by the tears falling from her eyes. The driver chances a look over his shoulder at her but Emika can't bring herself to care that he's seeing her in such a state. She raises a hand to her eyes and rubs the tears away with the sleeve of her kimono.

A part of her still thinks that dream is futile, even now that she's free. But that doesn't matter anymore.

Hatsuko wants her to do this. Hatsuko _believes_ in her. That's all Emika needs.

She'll go to Konoha, she'll open her tea shop, and she'll have the best shop in the entire village. Emika won't squander this gift. She'll make her sister proud.


	2. Ginsing

_._

* * *

 _But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea._

* * *

Konoha lives up to each and every preconceived notion Emika has of it, and then some.

The streets smell of cheap fried food and body odour. Children run around the place screaming their heads off, and more than a few of them have yanked on Emika's hair on their way past her. Her poor hair—the dirt streets litter the air with dust, dust that is slowly but surely turning the strands of black into brown, and it's not _only_ children that are tugging on her hair.

The entire place is filthy and awful. She's never been so grateful for an ugly, disposable kimono in her entire life.

And the _heat_. The heat is oppressive, worse than she's used to. Kodaba manor sits in the far east where it's milder and inclined to rain. Here, though, within a handful of minutes, she's finding herself covered in sweat from having to lug around the chest with all of her things.

She's been here for less than an hour and already hates the village.

"Hey, pretty lady—need some help with that?"

Emika glances at the area around her. All she wants is a hotel that _doesn't_ look like it's going to give her some kind of unsightly disease. Is that so much to ask? So far, she's passed a couple of places with vacancies, but both were run down.

Unlike some around her, Emika had standards, and she had no need to settle for the sake of finances. She refuses to settle for less than her usual standards. Not in this life. Not anymore.

Grudgingly, Emika continues to trudge through the congested streets, refusing to let her face or posture betray the discomfort she's in.

Maybe she's in the wrong part of the village—this place is huge and she knows that people of high status stay in the village. There has to be somewhere worthwhile.

"Wait a second, Miss."

Emika feels a hand on her shoulder. She jumps, whipping around to face the owner of the hand, and feels her chest fall from her grasp.

Everything happens so fast, it's a blur. By the time her eyes catch up, she sees a teenaged boy standing in front of her with the chest in his hands.

She's annoyed at how attractive he is—and how aware of his attractiveness he seems to be, given the way he carries himself, with an easy gait and chin held high. Gorgeous silver-blonde hair tied into a ponytail at the back of his head, sharp features, and fascinating pupilless eyes as green as the trees surrounding Konoha. Then she notices the headband stretched across his forehead and her shoulders stiffen.

"Sorry about that," he says. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It is fine," Emika murmurs, the instinctual formality wrapping around her entire being like a blanket. "I believe I should be thanking you for catching my belongings."

"Ah, no. It's my own fault you dropped it."

Emika waits for him to give it back to her, but he makes no motion to. "You look a bit lost," he continues. "I was wondering if you need help finding anything?"

She considers her answer.

On one hand, she knows a ninja headband when she sees one. Her memories of watching Naruto in her last life are fuzzy at best, but she does remember some things. Main characters, some key plot points, basic information—including headbands. The freakish speed he moves at cements that. And she wants nothing to do with these ninja folk, with their weird quirks and sharp, pointy things.

On the other hand, Emika thinks she might come down with heatstroke if she's outside for much longer.

"I am looking for a suitable hotel to stay at," she finally says. "I would be greatly appreciative if you might lead me towards one."

"Yeah, I think I can do that."

Emika holds her hand together in front of her and bows. "You have my thanks."

The teenager shrugs. "You're welcome, but there's nothing to thank me for, honest. I'm just doing the right thing."

Emika inclines her head.

The boy adjusts his hold on the chest and leads her on through the village.

Emika walks at his side—his left, away from the kunai strapped to his right thigh and hip—and a step behind him. She can see him watching her out of the corner of his eye, though what he's looking for she can't tell.

After a while, he says, "The name's Inoichi Yamanaka, by the way."

"A pleasure to meet you," she says. "I am Emika." The lack of a family name leaves the statement sounding unfinished, even in her intonation, unused to only introducing herself by a given name.

She expects him to ask, but he doesn't. He simply grins at her over his shoulder.

His name, though. Something about it seems familiar; she can't quite put her finger on it. The obvious connection he has is to Ino—one of the main cast, the characters Emika can remember—with them sharing a clan. Perhaps he was a side character, or something? She'll have to think on it. Now that she's stuck in Konoha, she might as well at least try to brush off the dust from these memories.

It takes Emika a bit to notice, as they walk, the difference between travelling through the village before and now. Aside from not having to carry her own luggage, she also starts to realize that people are no longer bumping into her or yanking on her hair or generally invading her personal space.

"So," Inoichi says. "What brings you to Konoha?"

Somehow, lying seems like a terrible idea. But Emika isn't in any rush to spill her guts to a stranger. "A new start," she says. Vague but accurate.

"You're planning to live here, then?"

"For the foreseeable future."

"On your own?"

Emika narrows her eyes. "Yes," she says, the word coming out more pointed than intended.

Inoichi has the grace to appear sheepish. "Sorry, not trying to touch sensitive territory. Just wanted to warn you that if you're here entirely on your own, no family already living here or no employer having brought you here, you need to check in with the Civilian Services department."

"Oh." She averts her gaze. "I did not know that."

"Most don't," he says. "Which is why I mentioned. They keep track of all newcomers as they get through the gates and hunt you down in a month or so, if you don't go yourself. But they tend to be in a better mood if you don't make them work so hard for it."

In hindsight, it makes a surprising amount of sense to her. "Then, I suppose I owe you my thanks. Again."

"And again, none needed. Just doing my job."

That's something she'll have to attend to, sooner rather than later.

Emika fights to keep from biting her lip. "If you do not mind my asking, what is involved in this check-in?"

"Basic questions. What you're doing here, where you come from, how long you intend to say. Normally won't take more than ten minutes."

"That is good to know."

"It's not a big deal, honestly," he says. "Just a precaution."

Emika nods. "An understandable one."

"Though, if you want, I could help you prepare."

"If it is as simple as you have presented that, I think that would not be necessary."

"On the contrary—I could give you a tour of the village, take you to a nice little food place, give you a mock test."

"Again, that does not sound necessary."

"Yeah, alright, not necessary," he says. "But it could be fun."

Emika stares at him, unblinking. "I do not think so."

He lets out a breathy laugh. "You're not one for subtlety, huh? I can appreciate that."

She doesn't answer.

" _Honesty is not proper for a woman, your place is not to hold an opinion_."

" _Do not dishonour male guests by rebuking their advances, smile and bat your eyes, do your duty_."

" _Laugh, Emika. It will not kill you. If you did, for once, you might actually appear beautiful enough to be worth the Kodaba name._ "

Emika doesn't answer.

The rest of their walk passes in an awkward silence.

.

.

Emika feels the iced air wash over her as soon as the hotel doors open, and she knows that she's in the right place. She surveys the lobby, the rich furniture and impeccably maintained marbles floors, and is further convinced that she's in the right place.

She catches Inoichi watching her, a smug look on his face. "Is this 'suitable'?"

"Yes," Emika says. "It is indeed."

A young man greets the two of them at the front desk. He watches Inoichi carefully and notices Emika as more of an afterthought. "Good afternoon," he says. "How may I assist you?"

"I would like to book board for a month, if you please," Emika says.

The young man's bright blue eyes flicker back to Emika and stay on her. The fake smile, sugar sweet tone—she remembers the pain of having to shove that mask on her face in the presence of customers. Poor, unfortunate soul.

"I see," he says. "And for how many?"

"Just myself."

"Understood, miss." He pulls out his book and flips through some of the pages. "I can place you in the bottom level suite of our third building."

"That sounds agreeable."

"Wonderful," he says. "For a month long stay, that will cost you three hundred thousand yen."

"Of course."

She can feel Inoichi watching her. She undoes the clasp on her chest and reaches for something that she managed to nick from her room without anybody taking notice—her Kodaba seal. It's as good as a signature and impossible to forge.

Emika presents it to the young man and says, "I will place the charge on my tab."

Three hundred thousand yen is more than most people in this village make in a month, but it's pocket change to a family who bought their way into the upper echelons of the Fire Country nobility. When Hatsuko drops by for a visit, Emika will send her along to pay off the charge.

It takes him a second to recognize it, and when he does, his eyes widen. "Ah—ah, yes. That will be no problem, miss—"

She fights off a grimace. "Thank you," she says.

The young man nods and passes her the key to her room.

Emika breezes past with Inoichi trailing behind her. Somebody tries to take the chest from him but Inoichi waves them off. Emika considers shooing Inoichi away herself but finds her curiosity gets the better of her.

They exit the main lobby building and enter the stone pathway that connects the slew of buildings contained within the mini-compound. She counts ten traditionally constructed buildings stretching out from the path, each with three floors to them, stairs on the outside to gain access to the upper floors. Flowers and trees sprout out to line the path and she can see a pond at the end, settled between the mouth of the last three buildings.

There's a serene sense that it instils in Emika. The quiet dribble of water, the smell of the flowers, the lack of people compared to the rest of the village.

She waits until the doors close behind them, blocking off any potential eavesdroppers, to ask, "What would you have done if I had not that much money available to me?"

"Well, I didn't expect you to rent a room for a whole month… but I was pretty confident that you could afford to stay here."

"And? Why choose this? Why deem _this_ to be what I meant when I said suitable? You are not incorrect, but I find it a curious thing that you were able to gauge my available funds with such accuracy."

"Ninjas don't reveal their secrets. That's kind of the entire job description." He looks at her with an eyebrow quirked. "That is, not for free, at least."

"Then I suppose it will remain a mystery."

"Where's your sense of fun?"

"Right where you seem to have misplaced your self-preservation."

Inoichi lets out a low whistle. "That was harsh," he says, though his tone sounds good-natured and teasing.

Emika ignores the urge to apologize.

The third building comes up on Emika's right and she strolls towards the door of it, not giving Inoichi another look.

The suite is, again, a pleasant surprise for her. Not quite to the degree of luxury she had at the manor, but enough that she doesn't feel an itch under her skin to jump in the shower and claw her eyes out. It's simple and uncluttered.

She walks in and slips off her shoes in favour of the complimentary slippers.

"Huh," Inoichi says. He stands in the doorway. "This is pretty nice."

"Yes, it is," she says. "Rather acceptable, I think."

"Glad to hear it. Mind if I come in?"

"I do not mind."

He kicks off his shoes and pads barefoot into the main part of the suite. In the middle of the room, a set of slate grey couches and chairs surround a scratchless black table that glistens in what bits of light seep through the papered windows. Inoichi sets the chest down behind one of the couches.

Emika bows to him. "You have my deepest thanks for doing me the service of carrying my possessions, leading me to this hotel, and providing me with company for the trip."

"Is that enough thanks that I can come back on Wednesday and take you out for tea?"

He almost gets her with the offer of tea. _Almost_. "I do not think so," she says. "But, I suppose… enough thanks that if I stumble across you in the village, I promise I will grant you a minute of conversation before I pretend that I do not know you."

"I'll accept that generous offer."

"As is your only choice."

"Fine, fine. I know where I'm not wanted." Inoichi makes his way back towards the door, winking at Emika as he passes her. She turns to watch him leave, and he walks backwards, keeping eye contact with her. "See you around, pretty lady!"

This time, rather than not wanting to give Inoichi an answer, she finds she doesn't _have_ one to give him.

 _Pretty lady_.

Stupid teenage boys and the stupid things they'll say to get their way.

Emika shoves the thought out of her head.

Without Inoichi around, Emika feels the stiffness seep out of her posture, the pressure for properness ease in the back of her mind.

She moves over to the chest and kneels down in front of it, her hands feeling the grooves and carvings in the wood. She pops the lid of it. Her kimono, two coloured with soft pastels and floral designs, two in bright colours and even brighter patterns. Underneath the kimono, her tea set and her brush, both made of perfectly polished silver, the hair oil sitting beside them.

Her things. Her most precious possessions.

The only things she needs from that wretched place.

She doesn't know how long she sits there, staring, before she gets up and wanders around her suite.

The bedroom is grand, with a giant bed and vanity, and a window open to the gardens to give the room some natural light. The kitchen—which she barely glances at—seems functional enough. That'll take a bit for her to reacquaint herself with, not having had to cook for herself in sixteen years. But her favourite part of the suite is the bathroom. A shower with a wondrous amount of settings and, the cherry on top, a bathtub that pours out fresh spring water from its tap, a litany of soaps and shampoos perched on the sides of it. She'll get use of that.

Emika ultimately finds herself standing in the middle of the main room, not knowing what to do with herself.

Never has she had this kind of silence, before. Never has she had this utter lack of expectations pressing upon her.

 _So this is the feeling of freedom._

Emika lets out a breath, surprised that it turns into a laugh.

This is the kind of thing that she can get used to.

* * *

Emika spends the first two days having food brought to her rather than venturing out into the village for groceries.

She enjoys her bath and the privacy her suite provides. The stillness of it. No tutors and servants pounding at her door. The feeling of eyes burning holes into every orifice of her being is absent. The cleaning staff only come if she calls them, and she's avoided doing so.

But on day three she tires of staying cooped up inside of her room. She needs to start getting things together, and her first step is to get dressed and take a trip to the nearest market. She can afford to keep having her meals brought to her, with all of it going onto the same tab as her suite, but sooner or later she'll need to learn to cook and there's not much point in putting it off.

Emika sits at the vanity and brushes out her hair. Once all the knots are out, she puts it into a simple hairstyle, with two chunks left to sit on either side of her head and the rest pulled up into a high ponytail at the back of her head. Atop the vanity sits a few complimentary beauty products provided by the hotel—powder, a few shades lighter than her skin; eyeliner; and two thumbnail-sized pots of lipstick. It's enough for a couple faces of makeup. She'll pick up more when she's out, but for now, this'll do. She applies all of it rather heavy-handedly, as she's grown used to in this life.

And then comes the hard part: the kimono.

Getting her kimono on herself takes Emika far longer than she'll ever admit. She always opted for a less cumbersome style, which is her only saving grace as if she had a full traditional kimono she would have never been able to get it on, with all of the layers and things that need to be tied. Even with help, Hatsuko, who wore the more extravagant kimono of the two of them, needed half an hour and five servants to get dressed for special occasions.

The kimono is gorgeous, even still. A vibrant teal colour with wave designs and koi fish floating around it, gold and silver stitched into the cuffs and linings. The silk is nice and thin, as well, able to breathe in this heat.

Once the kimono is on and she's as satisfied as she can be with her hair, Emika pulls out her envelope of yen and considers.

She has eight hundred thousand yen in the envelope.

Emika was never given spending money like this, nor was she ever privy to exactly how much their parents gifted Hatsuko every month. She's not terribly surprised.

The Kodaba family make their money through industry—metallurgy, coal, and a handful of others that are key to the Land of Fire's economy. Near half of all the weapons these Konoha brutes wield were made with Kodaba steel, if not more. Her grandfather cultivated the family name, their unimaginable wealth, and eventually purchased their place in the Fire Country's court, where they've thus far been ill received. The rest of the nobility see the Kodaba family as a bunch of money grubbing children wearing their mother's finery, which is entirely true, and the reason that it's even more important for them to keep face than the others families in court.

Emika tucks fifty thousand yen into her sleeve.

Admittedly, it's part of why she seeks to keep her identity under wraps. The desk clerk knowing is a minor thing—he'd be a fool to open his mouth and risk losing them as a client. She can't see him leaking that information. But anybody else? Not a chance. That's not the kind of target she wants on her back. Her family is popular with neither their own ilk nor the common folk.

Money safely hidden away, she takes one last look at herself and leaves for a day of shopping.

.

.

The streets are as crowded as the last time Emika traversed them. But she notices that, like when she walked with Inoichi before, nobody seems to get within her personal bubble. Her aura of wealth serves as a sturdy shield from the people around her.

She garners stares the whole way, too. Some openly gawk. Others point and whisper behind their hand. It's a level of attention that Emika isn't used to having, and she finds she doesn't quite know how to react to it. The sensation of it makes her skin crawl. She was never the one to grab attention at court gatherings—that was always Hatsuko's job.

Erring on the side of caution, Emika does her best to not acknowledge the attention nor pay it mind, her chin up and her eyes locked ahead of her.

The market is her last stop. She wanders the stalls with an ugly but sturdy cloth bag that she picked up along the way slung over one shoulder, full of makeup and with her money hidden at the bottom. Emika takes her time here, grabbing things that she knows she'll be able to cook with. She has a rough list in her mind: rice, vegetables, eggs, and noodles. She won't be making gourmet meals anytime soon, but she won't starve, either.

She watches the people around her check the various products. One woman picks up a melon and taps on it, then shakes the thing right next to her ear. Another holds an egg up to the sun, as if the natural light will let her see what's beneath the shells—though Emika can't gather why that's necessary.

Emika doesn't bother with that bunch of idiocy. She picks what looks and smells fresh, and purchases it.

At one stall, Emika hands the woman running it a flat of twelve eggs. The woman scans the eggs, flits her eyes to Emika, and stretches her lips into a plastic smile. "2500 yen, miss."

She pulls the bills from her wad and exchanges them for the eggs.

Behind her, she sees a couple of women, their arms full of groceries, pointing at her and snickering about something. They fall silent and swerve away when Emika walks past them on her way to the next stall.

She notices the same when she purchases some fruit—the stares, the almost mocking looks of the stall owners. It's as if none of them has ever seen somebody other than a housewife out doing grocery shopping.

Hatsuko preened under this kind of attention. The way every eye turned to her when she walked into a room, how people fawned over her, wanted to sidle up with her and be around her. Emika feels more like a circus monkey squirming underneath the spotlight.

When she's got at least a week's worth of food and the stares become too much for her, Emika retreats for the hotel. _What a bunch of idiots_ , she thinks. _They can't get to me—they're not worth the wrinkles._

It's what she keeps telling herself for the rest of the night as she sips tea and soaks in the bathtub, waiting for her headache to ease.

* * *

Emika takes a sip of her tea, eyes roaming around the tea shop she's in.

She sees a room full of people enjoying their drinks and vaguely familiar desserts, clustered around the collection of tables that circle the open kitchen, too busy with their friends and refreshments to pay any attention to her.

It's a smaller shop. There aren't any windows to let in natural light, but the room is still well-lit by a few well placed light fixtures, and the decor does well to give the place a cosy atmosphere, surprisingly so for what seems to be a store of quaint origins.

On her right, a waitress approaches a table, tea set in hand. She exchanges a few pleasantries with the two people sitting at the table and then gets to work on preparing the tea. The waitress performs a bastardization of tea ceremony, cut and sped up—likely for feasibility, given that a true tea ceremony can take upwards of twenty minutes. What Emika watches is tea being prepared with a few flourishes and hints of tradition.

It's a common thing to do in the tea shops, as Emika's noticed over her week and a half of research.

Emika picks at the cookie on her plate. A little green, square-shaped thing, supposedly green tea flavoured, one of the most popular dessert flavour she's seen among the shops. She sees green tea cakes, green tea cookies, green tea sprinkles and green tea flavoured whip cream as toppers. It's right up there with red bean paste. She takes a nibble and her nose threatens to scrunch up in disgust—it doesn't _taste_ like any green tea she's ever had. There's a cheap, artificial taste to it. But she didn't expect much less from the shop.

Her research so far has been fruitful, if a bit surprising. She noticed a lot of smaller, more personal places, focused on providing people with privacy and varying degrees of tradition. The more expensive, the more traditional, with the expensive shops concentrated in the tourist sections of the village while the cheaper ones branch out into where more of the common folk are. Right now, the shop she's in is on the edge of the central village hub, a block away from some civilian housing, while the more pricey shops she's been to are in the tourist-friendly parts of the market, aimed at people like Emika who are bringing in high volumes of money from outside the village. But she did see that, along with visiting nobles, there were some clear village natives in the mix.

At that thought, Emika's eyes stray to the back of the shop, where she sees a set of twins with ghost eyes enjoying their tea. She's seen the two of them frequently over her journey. She made it her mission to visit each and every tea shop and cafe within the village, stopping at as many as she can each day, and if she didn't know better, she might think they were doing the same.

It's prompted her to start thinking about renting space, decor, demographic. She wants to cater to her own social class, which means she ought to start asking around in the central parts of the village for free space. Specifically somewhere that either has minimal windows and an open kitchen, or somewhere she can renovate to have that.

She's also found herself wondering about her menu. For the first time, this is where Emika starts to pull from her other life for ideas. She thinks she remembers how to make cake pops and morning buns, at least, or at least enough that she can recreate them with some practice. Cookies aren't all that complicated, either. The interesting one for her is the idea of bringing iced tea to Konoha. It's one that she expected to see somewhere; it's so hot in Konoha. But she's yet to see anybody serve tea cold. That said, she's torn—the reason it doesn't exist is simply that there's no historical and traditional basis for it, as with both the cake pops and morning buns.

And here's where she finds her confliction.

The mental image she has is a small shop with traditional seating and tatami mats and tea ceremonies, but her experience falls more in line with the shop she's currently sitting in, a place where she _could_ sell iced tea and unique desserts. There's no congruity. She knows tradition, found a love in it she thought she'd lost until she was introduced to tea ceremonies, but there's such an undeniable business potential to bringing something new and unique to the village. And it doesn't help that Emika's thus far seen a noticeable difference in how much more business these cheap shops get in comparison to their more expensive counterparts.

Emika feels a headache coming on.

She sets down some yen on the table and exits the shop. She's ready to get back to her suite and clear her head a bit, but it seems she's not so lucky.

Two steps out of the shop and a familiar blond sidles up beside her.

"Lovely day, isn't it, pretty lady?"

It is, in fact, a lovely day.

The sun is out in a cloudless sky, there's a breeze. The turn of the season from summer to fall is on its way and Emika can smell it in the air.

But Emika ignores that. Her shoulders grow tense and she frowns. "Did you follow me?"

Inoichi laughs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black cargo shorts. "Right to the point, then."

"I see no reason to beat around the bush with stalkers."

"Hey, wait a second—I'm not a _stalker_."

"Oh?"

"I just tracked… you… with ninja stuff." Inoichi rubs the back of his neck. "I promise it's not creepy."

Emika gives him a dry look. "I highly doubt that. If you must say it is not creepy—"

"I know, I know," he says. "I just… wanted to see how you were settling in."

She sighs. "Is that so?"

"Yes?"

"Fine. I am settling in fine."

"Good to hear," he says. "Have you found a place to stay?"

"I am looking at some places to rent for right now, yes," she says. "But I have not yet decided on one."

"Don't you only have another week and a bit left at that hotel?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you… worried?"

At this, Emika pauses. She feels her feet slow down. "Should I be?"

"I mean, I don't know. It normally takes a bit to get negotiations settled and I doubt anybody will rent to you if you haven't done your check in with Civilian Services yet."

"Oh."

"You haven't gone, have you?"

"No… I have not."

"Ah."

"I suppose I know what I will do tomorrow, then."

"Good. That's good."

Emika keeps walking, headed towards her suite, and for some reason, Inoichi follows along beside her. An awkward silence sits between the two of them. Emika doesn't try and break it—he's well past his allotted minute of conversation time that she promised him.

They get into the main part of the village and Emika can _feel_ the second it happens from the sudden heat on her skin of eyes turning her way. She straightens her back and takes in a deep breath.

 _Not worth the wrinkles_.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Emika considers. Her gut instinct is to decline, but still she says, "I suppose."

"Why attract so much attention to yourself with those clothes when you're clearly not a fan of it?"

"That question hinges on an assumption you cannot possibly confirm," Emika says. "And regardless, it is none of your business."

Inoichi flashes her a pearly white grin. "Fair enough," he says. He nods, seems to think about his words. "Can I give you a bit of advice, then?"

Again, she says, "I suppose."

"This is the last place you want to stand out in, 'specially not now."

"And why is that?"

"We're fresh out of a war. People are paranoid. And civilians have the worst of it; they're sitting ducks in the biggest target in all Fire Country. There's no way of knowing if the newcomer they're talking to is actually a spy." He casts a look at Emika.

For some reason, she feels a wriggling sense of discomfort in her chest. "You're suggesting I change how I dress to better fit in?"

"Something like that. People'll treat you more… fairly, I guess." He says it as if it weren't an obvious thing.

She knows that's all it would take to keep attention off of her. If she thought the trade-off was worth it, she'd have gone through with it and bought herself a set of peasant clothes.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"That's good enough for me."

And with that, Inoichi jumps back into the charming, cheerful teenager of a few days ago. "I'll be off then, pretty lady. See you around!"

She rolls her eyes but, unable to help herself, she returns his wave as he jogs off into the crowds.

* * *

A/N: Special thanks to **Ota** and **Sage Thrasher** for their beta work!

So like... yeah... been a while since I updated this, huh. Crazy how fast months slip by. I promise it's not dead - far from it. I'm currently in the process of fully plotting it out. Mostly, time just kind of flew away from me. Hopefully it won't be another three months before I upload.


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